Judge, Jury and Executioner
by shakeahand55
Summary: 'he has done what is right, and would do it again if the need arises'


Title: Judge, Jury and Executioner

Author: shakehand55 (me)

Pairing: Enjolras/Grantaire

Summary: 'he has done what is right, and would do it again if the need arises'

* * *

He wants to look to his left and see Grantaire beside him, bottle in his hand and that '_I don't care'_ look upon his clean shaven face, he wants to see that Grantaire won't judge him like he himself judges himself.

He hates that he has to do this, he hates that he is the one that has to shoot this man, this rat bastard who just shot an innocent old man, at this moment he hates that he is the leader.

But after all what is one more death, what is one more stain of blood on his hands when he is sure they will be drenched red before the night is through.

He knows that Grantaire is drinking, and he knows that it shouldn't bug him like it does; Grantaire is a drunkard lay about who can think nothing of himself or the others around him.

No he knows that isn't true but he lets himself believe it like if he believes it right now will help make this easier, and he knows Grantaire lets them all believe it as well, even he who knows the truth and knows the man.

But he knows better, he sees a Grantaire different from everyone else, he knows all the things he keeps hidden, he knows things so deep and personal that Grantaire might not even know them.

He knows that Grantaire still has his sister's doll from when they were only young and their father and mother were still living, he knows that Grantaire isn't as cynical as he pretends to be, he knows that Grantaire cares about him as much as he himself cares about Grantaire.

Keeping his eyes on his watch and trying to calm his thoughts he can see the time ticking down.

This murder's time was almost up and then would he himself be no better than this man?

Would this make all his friends turn on him? No that's foolish thinking and he knew like they all did, even a revolution must have its leader and it must have its discipline.

It is only logic after all; murders are judged and executed, be it by a life time in the galleys, the hand holding the pistol, the coarse rope of the hang man's noose or the sharp edge of the guillotine.

He can hear the murder mumbling faintly to himself, his palms are getting sweaty and his watch shakes slightly in his hold, but no one notices and he takes a tighter hold of it as to not let it happen again.

10 more seconds, 9 more seconds, 8 more seconds this man has to breath, 6 more seconds and he can hear the silence all around him, this man has 4 more seconds left on this earth.

As the hand moves and the minute is up Enjolras quietly put's the watch back into its place in his fob, wiping his hand of sweat as he does so and takes a firmer hold of his pistol placing it on the murders head.

He can feel a slight tremble run through him as he holds the pistol to this man's head right against his left ear, he is sure he can hear his blood rushing through his veins.

He takes a firm hold of the greasy hair, takes a breath and places his finger on the trigger, he doesn't want to do this, not really but still it must be done for the good of all.

He exhales and put's more and more pressure on the trigger until it goes off, the explosion deafening him and the smoke blinding him. He lets the body slip from his fingers and fall face first to the cobble stones under his feet, the blood pooling around them and running through the cracks and spreading.

He knows he should say something, defend his actions but at the same time he shouldn't have to, his men know.

Like any good judge, jury and executioner he has done what is right, and would do it again if the need arises, he prays that it won't, there will be enough killing tonight and in the hours to come.

After looking about him and kicking the body away from him he takes a few steps away from the corpse, "throw that outside" he says and then watches as three of his men lift the corpse and take it away to toss over a small barricade into another street.

Away from them all, away from where they know their bodies will soon lay and their blood will mingle and mix, staining the stones and leaving their mark.

But he knows what he will say now as he looks around once more and see's the faces of his men all around him, he knows the words as they come to him and start flowing from his lips loud and clear for all to hear.

Not once did he look up, not once did he see Grantaire standing in the window of the wine shop, arms crossed over his broad chest eyes unmoving from the spot where he stood giving his speech, boots standing in a puddle of blood that has now reached him.

He didn't see the nod of the head, he didn't see the look of admiration and compassion, something close to love if not love itself coming from the man clad in his finest dark green vest and finest, purest white blouse standing high above the street in the window watching everything below.

Grantaire watched everything, after Enjolras's speech they were all silent and looking about themselves then slowly a mumble started as they all started to talk softly to one another and he heard Courfeyrac softly call out to a boy who was making his way over the small barricade where the murder's corpse lay.

Grantaire watched as Enjolras snapping out of his almost comatose like state standing in the blood where he was after giving his speech, and moved towards the boy.

Courfeyrac moved toward them, Grantaire watched as they talked for a few minutes before he was handed a musket before going off one way, Enjolras and Courfeyrac heading to the opening of the barricade to sit and watch for the night.

Grantaire knew nothing more would happen tonight and Enjolras was in good hands, not his hands but good hands none the less, so he was alright with leaving his spot in the window and going back to his bottle and drinking the night away.


End file.
